𔓘 𝒹𝑜𝓁𝓁 ֶָ֢ 𝒾𝑒 ◞

"You broke a lot of rules, Price."

"No more rules."

---

I am once again begging people to realize that AI checker doesn’t work. it’s never worked. it’s notoriously known to have flagged human-made works as AI and AI-generated works as human-made. and by feeding it people’s works, you are feeding more works to AI, because apparently the machine itself is AI.

Fat lesbians are always left out of events, community pages, etc

Don’t let us be fat, black or disabled

I will ride for us at all times

Fat butches

Fat femmes

Fat mascs

what the fuck was he thinking wearing something like that at work? a compression shirt a size too small—i mean what the fuck—how is that fair? how is that normal? what else are you supposed to do except sit at your desk outside price's office and oogle at him whenever he goes into and out of a meeting?

it wasn't really a problem, actually, until he caught you.

he was waiting for the typed transcripts from laswell's meeting. standing in front of you, arms crossed over his chest, pecs straining against the dark grey fabric he wore as he grunted out that he wanted a copy of the papers that you were holding in your very hands.

"oi!" ghost snaps. your eyes, half lidded and focused on the middle of his chest, shoot wide open at the sheer volume of his voice, and you shuffle a little on your heels as you blink up at him.

"s-sorry, lieutenant, what were you saying?"

you squeak when he grips your face in one big hand. he squeezes your cheeks, puckering your lips, and you're dragged up and onto your toes as he leans down and presses the mouth of his mask against your own. he makes your lips move like a fish, squishing them tight and loose again, and he chuckles lowly as he studies the way your skin warms under his touch. pretty, stupid thing—smartest behind that desk, stupidest when you're standing in front of him.

"look at you," he murmurs. "y'r so bloody soft. all over. just how i like."

"y-yeah?"

"yeah..."

"y-you're so hot," you whisper. he laughs, chest heaving with it, and you ache to reach out and feel how meaty and fat he is there. "o-oh—"

"not supposed to fraternize with staff 'n the like, you know tha', don't ya?"

"y-yeah," you nod, leaning up on your toes, keeping your face against his.

"y'r just naughty, tha' it, innit? naughty, pretty thing you are."

"s-super..." you lose your train of thought, giggling, "naughty."

"fuckin' useless, tha' head o' y'rs," ghost mutters. you chase his thumb that traces your mouth, aching to take it into your mouth. the world is quieter when he lets you have it; your lips close around it, and you suck with a soft whine. "bloody useless."

"sorry..."

But even if it did the job perfectly, what is that compared to the human effort? We don't tune in to the Olympics to see a dune buggy with a brick on the pedal compete in the 100 meter dash. We want to see the human effort. The human element matters.

Creativity is no different. We can now make some fairly cool looking images and sounds with AI, but so what? It's not a human achievement, so why would it matter? All the wall street bros obsessed with Make Line Go Up see generative AI as eliminating the need for human creativity, but it's ultimately as empty and worthless as that dune buggy and brick. That won't chage no matter how cheap or efficient this currently expensive and resource-draining technology becomes.

Hayao Miyazaki on AI

EDIT: I took this from Bluesky without checking the full context (didn’t really think I needed to because it seemed like something Miyazaki would say. Still I should have) since then it has come to my attention that he was specifically talking about ableism here and not directly about AI.

I’m attaching the whole excerpt here: